The Adventures of Charlie Swan
by porodorable
Summary: What if all this time Charlie was a hunter? How are vampires walking around in the sun? And who are these missing people? This story is not a crossover, though you might recognize some peculiar characters. I do not own any rights to the Twilight series or any mentioned fandoms. It references some minor foul language; discretion advised. R&R.
1. Chapter 1: Origin Story

So you're probably wondering what a middle-aged white male cop does for a pastime in Forks, Washington outside of his career.

I'm just pulling your chain; no one cares what a middle-aged white male cop does because he's not some young thing or out of sight billionaire, am I right, my man? I'll tell you anyway, because, despite popular belief, I don't just sit in my car listening to the police scanner at one in the morning eating sprinkled donuts.

But I do something similar, just minus the donuts. They're bad for my cholesterol anyways.

Now, my daughter and her mother think old Charlie is going hunting on his off time. Neither of the two had ever been interested in that sort of thing, so they never question it. It pings my soul. I always knew that there was something enchanted about Forks, even before vampires existed.

Vampires. I'm talking about actual, bumping the night, fang banging vampires. No, I haven't gone off no deep end, though I can understand you thinking it.

It took one night to make me believe.

When I met Jonny and one of his sons, I couldn't understand how he could sleep at night knowing that his kids are with him on these hunts. It's beyond me. I wouldn't want my Bells holding up a shotgun to one of these beasts. She's too pure. Pure enough to see the good in these monsters. She has an arsenal of romance under her belt with the number of books she reads about it, and I worry for her.

Yeah, that's the big reveal if you hadn't guessed it. I fight these things daily, keeping Forks as smooth as I can, but for some reason, vampires and werewolves central around these parts. They seem to like the ambiance of this cozy town, rather than somewhere like Seattle where they can get more dinner. I guess I'm fortunate enough to be in the know, but sometimes I cry myself to sleep thinking my daughter could get covered in blood at any given moment. I feel like I'm in a real-life version of Demon Attack, but instead of laser cannons I'm using shotguns filled to the brim with Dead Man's Blood, and instead of a joystick to control it, I'm actually running for my life with my own two feet.

Everything started when I was out on patrol on the outskirts of town. Illegal campers were complaining about loud sounds that were described to be gunfire and hollering that had been triggering their veteran back into wartimes. I said I would look away from the legalities if they packed up and left the premises by the time I was done checking out the riff-raff. Although that's not lawful, it was pretty late, and I was just about to end my shift, so I didn't mind much.

I let the bystanders off with a warning and kicked dirt into their fire before hopping back into my cruiser.

The house was abandoned, and occasionally used by the homeless or wannabe gang members, because let's be honest, there was nothing "gangster" about Forks. They're just desperate and would use any means to get out. Forks was not the most exciting town, so I did not blame them, but I wish they would think a little more than just waving guns around and sagging their pants to be hip. Since the home had been used by many waywards, it was given the name "The Port" by locals. It's far enough from the suburbs where it can't bother the locals, but it's close enough for hikers and sport hunters to pass by.

I had heard the gunfire even before I killed the engine. Back then, when I was pulling up to the house, I assumed that it was kids learning target practice with some cans or stationary targets to work on. Then I heard the hollering and the hissing. The hollering sounded human but very military, which threw me off. We didn't get many veterans who wanted to retire into Forks, though you would think this was the ideal retirement home aside from Boca Raton, on the other side of the country. And I didn't know any kids part of the ROTC program. My brain failed to find a reasonable solution, but I was curious enough to press forward. The closer I got, the clearer the hissing became.

Jonny's son had kicked the door wide open and started cursing at what I had expected to be some gang members. I think his name was Gene or something like that.

"Bite me, Fright Night!"

"Don't provoke him, just shoot!"

BANG.

"Clear! … Sir?"

No response.

"Pop?"

Imagine this scenario: You're in a creaky old house in the outskirts of an unfamiliar state, carrying shotguns with your father or pseudo father. It's far past the witching hour, and there is little to no lighting aside from some flashlights you've scraped from the back of your car. You've just shot a humanoid point blank, and you've called out to said-father. There's no response. Anyone who cares about anything would be sweating bullets, tongue-dried, and probably a little confused. He couldn't have been older than my daughter, who just started her second year in high school. She would have been losing her mind and in tears.

But this kid-Gene or whatever-marched right in with his flashlight guiding his way, and his gun pointed in the same direction. I followed behind him, careful to keep my strides light and swift, awed. As he shifted his view, I made sure to steer clear from the angle and kept my hand on my holster.

I strained my eyes and kept my distance by a good foot, but the crack of broken glass gave me a dead giveaway. Gene whirled around, and I heard a click. He looked as though I looked like a monster. Both our nuzzles had met.

"Easy there, son."

"I'm not your son; you fanged narc. Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet through your head."

"Because that would be an assault to a cop, boy, on top of murder. I don't have fangs, either... whatever that means. Is that some kind of cop slur?"

He glared for a moment and went at ease. "Nothing. Leave it to the professionals, if you know what's good for you."

I scoffed as he started to walk away. "Listen here-"

Two shots were fired, over Gene and my shoulder. Directly into the forehead, the humanoid collapsed.

I whipped around to catch the end of the fall and rushed over. There was no pulse.

"Careful, idiot!" Gene barked.

"I'll ask again, what's going on here? Who are you? Who were they?"

"That's too many questions, narc, go home."

"That's enough, son."

So I had gotten the name wrong, but years to come he would still be remembered as Gene or Dylan. Somehow I managed to get Jonny right, but it's such a joe's name that it was easy enough to register.

"My name is Jon, and this is my son. We're hunters."

"Dad!"

"Quiet son. He deserves to know what almost killed him."

"Pardon? Are you hunters? Then why are you shooting personnel? Tell me why I shouldn't write you up for murder and disruption."

"Cause they're not personnel, Sergeant Taggart, they were already dead."

My forehead throbbed at the reference. "The guys looked pretty alive to me, kid."

"So I'm a kid now?"

"Son, I said that's enough."

Jonny walked over as the boy muttered a yessir. I began to give him a warning, but he wasn't listening. I recoiled the slide of my gun as he walked right past me to the corpse.

"I'm trying to show you something, sir."

"I'm just doing my job, sir." I retort. My finger is twitching by the trigger as he lifted the body's lip and triggered it to reveal several dozens of inhumane teeth. I could swear that my eyes had risen past the ceiling. It looked like he came straight out of a horror film, not like that one show with the blonde girl who slew things. My finger relaxed.

"This is a vampire. We've been hunting these things for the past week. We've been getting news of missing citizens that hike by a squatter house in the outskirts of Forks, Washington. We do what you do, keep citizens safe."

"And you're sure this isn't just some sort of… home base for mutation experiments?"

"Oh for fuck's sake-!"

"Boy..."

"Yessir."

Jonny sighed and had put a hand on my shoulder. I had not noticed that he had walked back up to my side and I nearly jumped out of my boots.

"I understand your confusion, but it'll be better if you just write this off as a couple of teens shooting fireworks nearby this house."

"In the middle of September?"

I could feel my brow cock upward as he shrugged.

"Look, you can make it as elaborate as you want, but you don't want to get into this line of business. It gets messy. And the more people who know about it, the more danger it brings. Just tell yourself it was a dream and keep doing your job. We'll do the rest."

I felt uneasy leaving them that night.

I felt even more uneasy the following morning when my daughter proclaimed interest in living with me.

My first instinct was that Renee's new boyfriend was hitting on my daughter, or making her uncomfortable, but she insisted that she wasn't being harassed. She hadn't even really come clean as to why she had a change of heart, to begin with. And I couldn't imagine why she'd want to live here. After all, for the past couple of visits, we have been meeting halfways in California when I had time off.

She detested Washington. It was "too dull" and "too rainy" and too "alien." That would have hurt me back then, but now that I see Forks for what it was, I do not blame her at all. So imagine my confusion now that my daughter is proclaiming her desire to fly over to Washington.

The thought of her being in any sense of danger boiled my skin.

Her mother was sick of this place and wanted out, but I couldn't follow her.

I was born and raised to be a family man, to have a loving wife and to raise a kid or two. I was born to have a job and come back home to this family. I was raised in this town, and it's all I know, and it's what my parents taught me. I don't know what's out there, and I couldn't even dream up what was in my own backyard.

That's how I knew I was awake when it was happening to me, that's how I know I'm not off my rocker.

Renee was pretty imaginative though. She could write a book with what she thought up if she could ever find her pen.

Her flighty attitude that I used to love turned into something that didn't make sense to me anymore, and what's worse is that now she's dating some younger guy. He's not much into the hunting stuff either, which means he'll ask fewer questions, which means we'll talk less. Good riddance. I heard he gave her a band CD he thought the kids were listening to these days, which made me laugh myself to tears. I would need more convincing from my daughter to believe that she was leaving because she liked him.

So that's it then. Old Charlie has to protect his daughter with his life in a snug town infested with vampires.


	2. Chapter 2: Investigation

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

I spurred my patrol car to life with a donut on my lips. The Penguins were in the midst of singing Earth Angel on the radio.

The song created burning from my midsection to push up, but I jammed it back with a decent mug of caffeine. I made a turn in the intermediate part of the lane and into the woodlands. I disguised the cruiser in some bushes before hauling out my arsenal.

The heat pulsed up to my ears as I focused the flashlight dead ahead. Before I moved forward into the underbrush, I drew a few deep breaths. I examined for about a solid four miles on foot. Then I started to turn back. That's when I saw him.

"Mi... sorry… Dr. Cullen?"

He wobbled a few skips and crumpled to the ground. I took a stride forward, but he rose a pale finger from his position.

"I don't... suggest that... Mr. Swan." His words garbled.

"Si- Doctor… if you're in strain, I am supposed to call an ambulance."

"Mmm, no I'm great. Go on about your work, Charlie boy! Mmm-hic."

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Dr. Cullen… are you… drunk?"

He snorted in the ground. "I suppose - hiccup - you could claim… that." As he giggles, my tummy churns. "Don't I sound foolish?"

Old Charlie was sure as hell confused. Why would a physician reject an ambulance? Was the doctor worried about the bill he might have to pay? Or was he unsettled because his career was on the line?

"I must press this, Dr. Cullen."

"You shouldn't." He kept his face on the ground.

I felt as if something bit my kidneys from the innards as continued a few more strides forward. Seeing that he provoked no more movement, I cupped his chin with one of my hands. Something was wrong.

His eyes were darker than the sky. His teeth were razor-sharp, and there were many more than there should have been. I staggered backward and aimed my rifle.

"Mr. Swan, please let me-"

"You're vermin!"

"Mr. Swan, please, I'm a doctor."

I paused a moment.

"Why are you a doctor? Wait. You don't..."

He laughed. "Hardly, Charlie."

"So... why?"

"It would take - hic - too long to explain. Please. Trust me."

"Why shouldn't I make you more dead than you are?"

Behind him, I heard rustling. We both dart our eyes to the shrubbery.

"Leave."

"Doctor…"

"Now. You're in the middle of ground zero."

Something like a blur dashes from the bushes and launches to Carlisle. They grapple before my eyes, but I cannot keep up. Sometimes I can see Dr. Cullen stumbling. I try to aim my rifle, but there's too much struggle.

"GO!"

My feet and arms are no longer in my control. I'm observing in the backdrop as my rifle slings onto my back as I jolt through the thicket. I cannot even move my neck, but I can make out the action on the side of my view. A surge of blood floods my head as the cruiser roars to life, that's when I look at it. Blurs coming up from the rear. One of the blurs engaged with the other. I hit the gas and speed back into the street, away from the timbers, away from risk.

I performed a hurried sweep around Forks before turning up at the police station. The sun is rising. I cannot make myself go back to that thicket where I saw Dr. Cullen. I acknowledge my Co-workers as I come to my office.

Officers of various ranks greeted me. They asked me queries about my daughter such as, "How's she adjusting to Forks?" and "Will she be taking English? My kid should be her same year…" Then they carried on with their discussions. I grinned and acknowledged at what I thought were the right moments as I moved on to my office. The adrenaline subsided.

There were no photographs of family relatives, nor items suggesting hobbies and enthusiasms. It was four plain walls, a place to hold my parka, cozy armchairs, and a desk with a used computer. The room smelled of pine, coffee, and paperwork.

I pushed the power button on the desktop. It hummed before I established myself in my armchair. I neglected the pleasantries on the other side of the connecting wall. I hope that I can strike a case to keep my mind off of earlier's events.

In most locations outside of Forks, the phones were going off left and right. Forks department was the butt of every Washington cop's quip. I had to accept the notion boiled my blood even though I had to play chagrin towards my allies. It was better to turn the cheek in situations like those. The officers who made the jokes were from meatheads thirsting for action. What I wouldn't do to blow their brains with a little detail that I had. And suddenly I considered Doctor Cullen. A painful lump in my throat refused to gulp.

After the dial-up, I clicked and surfed around the system. Sometimes an officer came in with a file report of a completed case and place it in my file bin. I took a pen and notepad and make brief notes before the load was complete. Three missing individuals appeared within one week. One, in particular, startled me because she was not much older than my baby girl. Through her profile, I learned that she was a local that lived nearby Weber's church. She attended mass every day, including Sunday. After finishing a few daily tasks and a motivational speech to my team, I headed back to my cruiser. She roared to life.

It wasn't too difficult to find Mr. Weber's church since there were only two in town.

The parking lot was small and in desperate need of attention. I watched my step as I stepped out of the cruiser, making sure not to make a rough fall to the lobby. There were only a few people present. They paid their respects to a little shrine dedicated to the girl before they entered. A lifetime ago, I can remember walking down those pews waiting for my blushing bride to be.

I lingered in the lobby, shuffling through pamphlets.

They promised freedom from grief and a personal relationship with God. I wondered what God had created such monstrosities in this town, but felt a wave of guilt. I snuffed the thought to the darkest part of my mind. A pamphlet startled me, asking the reader if they were seeking the answer to eternal life. My muscles tensed, thinking back to what Gene had said about vampires being already dead. I flipped to the other side of the card and mentally kicked myself. It said, "Jesus loves you" and went on about how great heaven was.

"My son, it is so good to see you!"

I half-step to face a man about a head shorter than myself. He was sporting spectacles and a pastor's black clothing. I met his embrace as best as I could, but it ended up being something like a pat on the shoulder blade. He squeezed me as if he was washing an assumed sadness away. I wondered if my poker face game was off today as I waited for Mr. Weber to finish his hug. The embrace ended, and we resumed our stances.

He had one of his million-dollar prized smiles donned on.

"Hello, my son Charles, and to what pleasure do I owe for such a visit?"

It hardly surprised me. Charlie was a common nickname for someone given with the name Charles, but that name was not mine.

"Hello, Padre," I said as I fidgeted with the pen in my breast pocket. "I was nearby and had an inquiry for you. If I could have a moment with you alone?"

His face never falters, but I watch his eyes wander from underneath his hooded eyelids. I wondered if he was assessing me, though it was most likely. He liked to know what was going on with others. Not in the way a gossipy mother from a PTA meeting would. He did it in a way that a friend was making sure you were not going ten feet under in your head. He nodded and motioned me to go further into the church and led me to the confessions area. A few individuals greeted him before we closed the wooden door behind us.

I could tell that they had recently attended the rug because the carpet had a hint of cleaner. The pastor took his seat as I took the smaller one, of which I had not sat on in decades. I attempted to recite the words. "Forgive me, Father,"

Mr. Weber raised his hand and chuckled.

"Unless there is something you have something to confess, the formalities are unnecessary. Are you here because of the girl?"

I closed my gaped mouth and nodded as a response. Mr. Weber sighed. He looked into the painting of Jesus Christ. It was the one where he is wearing a crown of thorns and is holding his heart between his hands.

"Her name is Mattia, a girl about your child's age, no?" I nod.

"Right. I suspected that I'd be gaining a visit from the police. I hit it in the nail, assuming you would be my inquisitor." She nods and continues, "She was well-read and well-liked by most of the community. I could only imagine that someone had stolen her. They wanted her for themselves, which is a dangerous path to pursue."

I pull out the pen and the memo pad from my pocket, jotting down the notes.

"Does she live with her parents? What's her last name?" His face fell ever so just, "Ah, yes, her past is tricky."

"How so?"

"She belongs to the town. Her mother passed away in the hospital after birth, and her father is unknown."

"Belongs to the town...?"

"A wayward child," Mr. Weber says. "The church has agreed to take responsibility for her well-being. Food, clothes, a small house in the nearest neighborhood. And she returns her time and efforts after school," he pauses. "Did." As if reminding himself of the current situation. "Her last name is Church. We thought it would be fitting."

I nod, scribbling away. I look up to him, and the preacher's glasses are fogging up. He takes the cloth in his pocket out and cleans the glasses in his hands. He then readjusts the glasses and wipes the edges of his eyes.

"Mattia was volunteering at an attendee's home before she disappeared. The attendee's mother happened to have psychosis."

"Ah... do you have a name?"

"Yes. Oritz. Lila and Ingrid. I don't know who's who."

I scribble them down as soon as she utters the names.

I hesitate before asking the question, "Does Mattia have any stalkers? Enemies?"

"If she had any stalkers, they were well hidden. As for enemies other than high school nonsense, there was not much of an issue."

High school nonsense was something Charlie had been familiar with. All the drama, name-calling, insults towards what you wore and what you did for fun or if you knew enough people. He was all too familiar with high school nonsense. I gruffed. There should not have been too many enemies in the high school... though it would not hurt to have some officers probe his daughter's school. The last thing I wanted was to mortify my daughter by being in the presence of her peers, that would be a target on her back.

"Thank you, Father Weber."

Mr. Weber nods in response, "You are welcome. Please, Charlie. Find her. We miss her greatly."

In the middle of Toto, "blessing the rains of Africa," I cut the engine in the nearest neighborhood. This street was the last whereabouts of Mattia Church before the abduction; at the end of the road was a cul de sac. Usually, I would have a partner with me, but something felt off about the disappearance. I was hoping that it was something in the realm of metaphysics, but I knew that it was too soon to jump to that conclusion. The house I parked in front of was modest, with a black rug to wipe your feet on before entering. I did as such as I approached the door, and before I knocked, I could hear a muffled screaming on the other side of the door. It was not a scream of distress, but the purpose was perplexing. I hesitated before I knocked then waited for a response.

One beat.

Two beats.

No response. The screaming continued.

I knocked again, this time with more force.

Moments later, I could hear dragging sounds from the other side of the door, but I was not sure what on earth that might be. It sounded pretty heavy, which concerned me. Blocking something against the entrance of a door was a hazard. A minute later, a petite brunette answered the door, winded. She was wearing a tee too large for her and a pair of gym shorts. I cleared my throat.

"May I help you?" she asked.

I flashed my badge, "I am Captain Swan, I am here about the disappearance of Mattia Church. May I speak to Lila Oritz or Ingrid Oritz?"

She frowns. We wince as there is shouting behind the girl; they a string of words that do not seem to add up together but are English.

"I'm afraid my mother is not in the best condition to be speaking to anyone, but I would be glad to comply. Please, on the porch." She motions towards the outdoor furniture on the left of the patio.

I step back to allow her to shut the door behind her, and we approach the table. I assume this must be the daughter. She has dark circles under her brown eyes, and her shoulders slump as she walks. Ingrid does not wear socks or shoes and her calluses are prominent on her skin. Her hair is in a bedhead bun. A yawn escaping from her mouth confirms her exhaustion, but she stops halfway. She looks down and apologizes, but I shrug in response. I pull out my pen and trusty memo pad to jot more notes on a free paper.

"Is it just you and your mother?" I ask.

"Well, currently. My father communes to the outskirts of Seattle for work until the evening."

"I see. So you often take care of your mother?"

"For the most part. Though Miss Church offered to assist."

"And when was this?"

Ingrid tilts her head and looks upward to the corner of her eye. She looks as if she is searching for the answer.

"About a month ago?"

My eyes gaze over her as if to ask, "Are you asking or telling me?"

She clears her throat and replies, "A month ago, sir."

I jot it down and nod. "Have you noticed any suspicious activity as of late?"

She shrugs. "Unfortunately I'm not quite sure what goes on around the neighborhood."

I look her in the eye. "And why's that?"

"I… tend to stay in the house."

"To help your mother?"

"To… avoid people."

Ah, an introvert. "Why's that?"

"I can't walk my dog without getting hit on by the opposite sex at least once. I decided to keep indoors."

The lead may be a dead-end, though I have yet to talk to the rest of the neighborhood.

"So you haven't seen anything suspicious?"

She shakes her head, "No, sir. Though Mrs. Smithy might."

I blink.

"She's our neighbor. She was ..." she pauses a moment, "marking down how many times she heard door slams from our house. They were disturbing her. We have to keep quiet around here, which can be… difficult given the circumstances."

"Thank you for your time."

"Sir… is… Miss Church going to be okay?"

"We're doing our best to locate her. You should be safe for a while. Lock the doors when you get home if you go out you should go during the day. The works."

"Yessir."

We parted ways. Earth Angel creeps in the back of my mind like a slimy Lovecraftian monster.

It was unnecessary to return to the cruiser since it was a walk to Mrs. Smithy's house. I give a few quick knocks to the door and wait for a response. I can feel a sneeze coming on as footsteps approach the door. The response was much quicker than the Oritz household. Instead of the door opening completely, the door cracked open. A shorter, elderly woman wearing a pastel Mumu and rollers in her hair. Her eyes pierced my soul as if she were trying to keep me at bay. I rolled my shoulders back.

"Yes?"

I pull out my badge.

"Yes, I'm aware you're a cop, what do you want?"

Tough as nails. I can see why Ingrid finds her so... charming.

"Mrs. Smithy, I am here about the disappearance of the wayward child Miss Mattia Church. I would appreciate it if you helped with the case."

"I know my rights. Am I a suspect?"

"You're a witness to a teenage girl's disappearance."

She purses her lips for a moment as if she is debating something. She shuts the door, and I hear a few jingles before the door opens again, this time enough for me to enter. Mrs. Smithy is already halfway down the hallway.

I have a suspecting feeling this will be a lengthy interview.


	3. Chapter 3: Interviews

Mrs. Smithy did not strike me as the conversationalist, but she hollered over her shoulder when she was not muttering to herself. She had a very husky tone, which reminded me that of a chain smoker's voice, and she laughed like the purple octopus lady from that cartoon movie with the mermaid in it. She had various decorations through the house, and it was very apparent that she lived alone.

What staggered me was the crossbow that hung on the wall.

She assured me it was just for display.

She noted that the safety was on and that there was no bolt nearby. She was a skinny old thing that withered like a leaf that had just experienced the autumn season, and the way she walked made me think of my late mother.

Mrs. Smithy re-assorted knickknacks as we passed by. She would adjust a lamp screen, picking up a painted figurine, and placing it into another table. The older woman seemed to walk without intent, but knew where she was going as it was her abode. She never strayed for too long before moving onward to the next object. If there was a rug curled up, she smoothed it out with her slippered feet rather than bend down and pat it out. If something was too tall for her to reach, I offered to assist, but she seemed to ignore my suggestion and continued with fiddling with her decorations.

Sometimes I wondered if she had forgotten that I was there, but then she would address me with some of the queerest questions and would reply with something snarky, inappropriate, or just downright sarcastic. She also seemed to believe that her jokes were hilarious because she laughed at the end of every punchline.

"You want a lavender lemonade?"

"Er… no, thank you, ma'am."

"Good. Because I ain't got any. HA!"

"What do you think of bats?"

"Pardon…?"

"You know. Bats. The ones with the wings, not the one that Babe Ruth used to swing, HAHA."

"Erm… I haven't experienced one yet, so I couldn't tell you."

"Nasty little leeches if you ask me," she says.

"How about wolves?"

"... Dangerous." I suggested after contemplation.

"Good."

And the conversation would drop sporadically before another began until we reached the kitchen table.

There was no placement of silverware or plates, but there was an old patterned cloth draped over the surface. Before sitting, the older woman picks up one something from one of the stand-alone cabinets and holds it in her hand. Here, I noticed she was missing a nub on one of her pinky fingers, just before the bend at the knuckle.

She seems to have forgotten about it, so I say nothing to address it, though I can see old scratch marks that make me curious. They remind me of animal marks, but I am too far away to get a good grasp of what type of entities she had encountered. She still wore her wedding band on the finger next to it, signifying her loyalty to her widower, or maybe she just liked how it looked on her finger.

I keep my pen and memo pad in hand before we finally begin with the conversation.

"You gonna ask me what I was doing on the night of the disappearance of Mattia Church?"

I nod, but I keep my surprise in check the best I can muster.

"Where were you?"

"Here."

"Any witnesses that can vouch for you?"

"No."

"All right… what were you doing then?"

"I was watching."

"Watching?"

"I spy on my neighbors."

She said it so calmly.

It was as if that was the thing little old ladies with crossbows on their walls did on a Sunday afternoon, as opposed to mastering their snickerdoodle recipes. I hesitated before jotting notes down.

"Can you… elaborate?"

"I grab my binoculars and check on the neighborhood as if I were birdwatching. You can see I can't walk very far and I'm not much of a conversationalist - you needn't try to kiss up to me boy, I know how irritable I can be. I also know my laws; the neighbors can complain and call an attorney, but at the end of the day, I'm not audibly listening to their conversations, nor am I videotaping the scene or whatever you 'kids' call it these days. People can take photos of each other across the street, and the court will rule it as evidence. I'm not an enabler; it's just a hobby. People find it creepy when they find out, and I've been to court several times, but they can never peg me because I'm not doing anything illegal."

She paused for a breath. There was a lot I needed to unpack with that statement, but I instead jot down the critical factors.

"I find people and animals interesting when they're at their most relaxed state. I keep my eyes on the streets, watching cats fight each other for territory, watching rollerbladers fall on their ass, seeing joggers pass by. If I find something boring like nudity, I just move on. I already know what all the parts of the bodies there are. Whether you're male, female, and, in between or other, I need not study biology anymore. I can tell you about bones you never knew existed."

I choke on my spit here, but I try to stifle the coughing as if not to distract her.

"... Anyway, what I found interesting was two nights ago a car was sitting idly across the street that entire week."

I looked up to her immediately, "You didn't bother to report it?"

She shrugged. "Some people live in their cars, some teens just want to get it on, who am I to judge? I guess that was my error. Anyway, it was an old Camy, don't know what year, but it was green and picking up dirt. It was two houses away from mine."

Whatever was in her hand, she rolled it in the palms of her hands.

"And you saw it pick up Miss Church?"

"Nope."

"Then how do you suppose there is a correlation Mrs. Smithy?"

I felt my brow raise to the edge of my skull.

"They stopped showing up when the Church girl disappeared. Like right after. They didn't even make it discreet."

"That is rather odd. I'll make a note of it. Anything else?"

"Yep. Two folks were wearing fedoras. I couldn't get a good look on their faces. A trench coat and sunglasses covered them. The glass was pretty tinted, too, almost illegally tinted."

"Almost?"

"It's not like I walked up to the car and examined it myself, you know? But I still struggled to see anything inside. I'd never seen it before, so I was curious."

"Very well. Can you think of anything else of note?"

"Nope."

I pull out one of my business cards and hand it to her.

"Well, ma'am, if you can think of anything else, please contact me. I'll be letting myself out then."

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

After leaving the place, I realized that I never figured out what Mrs. Smithy was holding within her hands, but I decided against going back in. She made it clear she was not one to socialize about herself.

Instead, I did my route through the entire cul-de-sac before heading back to the cruiser. Some neighbors mentioned a Ford Camry fitting Mrs. Smithy's description, and others said they could not help me or that they did not remember. A few of the housewives asked me what a Ford was while other neighbors tried to tell me over the years, though they were hardly consistent enough to make notes.

This much, I knew: A green Ford Camry was sitting idly during the week of Miss Church's disappearance.

There were other missing reports of individuals in a similar situation as Miss Church; they were without families or lived on their own and abducted within ten days of each other. No relation between the individuals other than being devout followers of various churches that have taken them in. Their ages, sexes, and occupations were vastly different, and they bore multiple names, so this was not an alphabetical hunt.

When my cruiser kicked into gear, the radio was at the cusp of finishing, "Hallelujah," which did not match my current mood.

There was nothing hallelujah about missing individuals without consistent evidence to follow. Criminals were becoming more and more crafty as society continues to build its technology, which, as a chief, is bothersome. I could only hope for the sake of these people they were still alive for me to save them in time.

It was roughly seven in the evening before I decided to clock out of work and head back home to my daughter, who was studying a book she already read.

We made small talk before I popped in some frozen dinner and called it a night. At least when people dream, they can work out whatever is troubling them. But all I saw in my mind's eye was a dull, dragging darkness before being abruptly woken up by something shaking my body.

At first, I thought maybe something spooked my girl, but when I rolled to consciousness, a face I did not recognize met my gaze.

I went for the pocketknife in my nightstand, but like a blur, his hand caught mine. He tutted his finger, and I felt compelled to oblige. He released his grip, and I seized my hand, cradling it against my other hand. His fingers were as hot as a fireplace's poker after stabbing some logs to keep the fire going, and his brown eyes seemed to reflect with no light. It took me a few minutes to realize that he was hissing something to me since I was still half asleep.

"Huh?"

"You need to stop investigating."

"S'cuse me?"

I hurled out an audible yawn, and he hissed at me to be quiet.

"Just heed my warning tool!"

"I don't understand - " but before I could finish my sentence, I was alone in my cold, damp room that smelled of pine.

The occurrence did not strike me as odd through the middle of the night.

Once dawn hit, I questioned whether I had dreamt anything at all.

Isabella was fast asleep, and I made some good old eggs and bacon. I decided to be a little "extra," as the kids call it, and poach the eggs. There are so many ways you can cook an egg. I played the tube sweet and low, not to disturb my teenager and check the forecast. Upon hearing that it would snow, I made a mental note to add some chains to her pickup truck to prevent an accident from occurring. Better to be safe than sorry.

I knew how reckless teens in this town could be on the slippery roads, and damn it all if I did nothing about it.

When I finished up with breakfast, I shut off the television, suited up for the weather, and went to work on the truck before leaving in the cruiser.

All the while, I could not help but think about the dream that I may or may not have had the other night. It put such a nasty taste in my mouth that even the bacon could not savor. Was it a warning or a threat? I wondered if I should put some security up in the house, but that was a little above my paygrade. I was financially tight at the moment, taking care of two in a compact home my parents donated on my wedding day. I solemnly imagined my parents meeting Bella in the delivery room with an exhausted Renee proudly beaming over our beautiful daughter. I pushed the imagery away as I pulled up to the office to start the day as per usual.


	4. Chapter 4: Icy

**MILDRED**

I duck into a book aisle when I get a sight of Charlie.

He tries to lean against the counter in his parka, but he misses when Doug gives him one of his fake ritual smiles. I try not to laugh as he attempts returning the smile. They exchange pleasantries, but Doug is too into himself to even acknowledge that Charlie is stumbling over his social cues. Maybe they have known each other long enough. Maybe Doug just did not care at all. I try to find a few books in this aisle, but I only find IDs from the next aisle over instead. As I rummage, I can see that bitch Gladys shifts her glasses as if she's getting ready to go off to war and approaches the old bloke. My shoulders slump.

"May I help you, Charlie?" Gladys asks.

She straightens up her posture and tries to speak from her chest, but it sounds twice as obnoxious. I grab the cart and make my way towards the scene. I think my jaw clench when she emphasizes on his given name.

"Ah, um, Miss Verch." He twirls the hairs in his mustache, looking anywhere except her eyes.

"Charlie Forks High School 1980, your junior year, you were failing English." She purses her lips, "You went to a tutor's house every day after school to bring up your grade, but told no one because you were afraid of getting kicked off of the football team."

I think he chokes on his spit as I'm closing in on them. I can sense the outside chill on him as I get closer and swear in my mind; I should have brought my gloves.

His eyes soften. "Ady."

"Quite." She grips the index cards and her knuckles whiten.

"What do you want?" She emphasizes each word.

"He's looking for me, Gladys. Fuck off with your high school drama and get over yourself."

Gladys sees that I am behind Charlie now and narrows her eyes.

"Is that any way to speak to your elders?"

"Is that any way to speak to our customers?" I match her voice.

She shifts for a beat before tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Very well then, we'll discuss this in our meeting after closing." She looks up to Charlie. "Charles."

**CHARLIE**

"Very well then, we'll discuss this in our meeting after closing." She looks up to Charlie. "Charles."

Mildred was still looming over the book cart, looking as if she was ready to pounce. She repositions herself with her shoulders slouched, and her hip tucked to the side. She avoided my eyes.

"Hey."

I chew on the inner part of my lip before I say, "Hey," back.

"Um."

"Look, I-" we both start and stop.

"Right, let's avoid the awkward cliche. To the break room?"

"Are you sure?"

"I can take my 15 whenever, cause laws. You should know all about that."

"Yeah. Right. To the break room sounds pleasant."

**MILDRED**

I blink. "You're shitting me. Doctor Cullen?"

"Watch your mouth, kid." Though his words are strict, it exasperates. He puts his hand on his head for a second. "Yes. Really."

"Well damn, I wouldn't have pegged him… he's got some self-control. Must use the blood packs they keep for donations or whatever."

I look at a painting on the wall for a moment. "Can vampires get drunk?"

I shrug.

Charlie turned around with his face twisted in confusion.

"Right, sorry, you didn't see my shrug. Dunno." She pulls out her journal from her satchel and starts jotting things down.

"That thing is just about as goth as you are."

"Isn't it? It's so badass." I look up to him and bite her lower lip out of habit. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

"I can't believe you're the same age as my daughter." He taps his foot on the ugly, felt carpet.

"I can't believe your daughter is so straight-laced… actually… I can—Scratch that. Super can. They say people who swear are more intelligent than people who don't."

"Who's they?"

"The internet."

"Right," I say. I pause. "… anything on there about drunk vampires?"

"I mean… it's intoxication. I don't know if alcohol does anything to the undead. But that's interesting. I'm surprised you're willing to even out Dr. Cullen like that."

I giggle ever so slightly, but I do not think he catches it. "Like, why are you telling me something so secret?"

"I don't want you hanging around him."

"I'm surprised." I place a sticky note into the notebook and make eye contact. "I thought you'd want me to go to the hospital."

His ears boil red. "I don't want you to get hurt-"

I suck in some air. "I mean for check-ups. Don't bust a knee-cap, uncle."

His shoulders slack. "Just...be careful."

I pull down my sleeve to show tattoos of markings on my arm.

His eyes widen. "Jesus, Mills! You're sixteen!"

"They're protective runes from evil, and they're temporary. Look." I point at one of them, "this one's fading. They're made of henna ink. I try to find the better ones, so they last longer. By the by… my next birthday's coming up. I just want cash. No socks. I have too many damn socks from relatives as it is. I could honestly make a tampon bag for the homeless women out of socks and still not run out."

"Still."

"It's harmless. Besides. I haven't gotten bitten in years."

An awkward silence suffocates the room.

"Oh, right, my dad didn't tell you about that. Anyway."

I look at my wrist for my watch. It was old and worn at the leather, but it still ticked.

"That your mom's?"

"My breaks almost up." I chew on my nail but refrain from biting down all the way through. The tiny scars on my thumb pulses white, and Charlie looks like he's about to vomit his lunch. "If that's all you have to say I'm getting back to work."

"All right." he straightens up and walks over to one book I have out. "Vampire for Dummies?" I cock a brow.

"You'd be surprised how informative the for Dummies series can be." I shrug. "Take it. It's an orphan book."

I watch him as he thumbs through it and set it aside.

"Not your flavor?" she offers. "What about this lexicon?" I pull another book from the pile and slide it over. "Intoxicating plants and where to find them."

He frowns. "That's not the title."

"It's the gist of what this book is about; give it a read."

"Anything else special on your end?" I ask.

He hesitates before replying. "Daughter's getting settled in school. Have you seen her on campus?"

I shake my head, "I tested out of Forks High, remember?"

"It's a shame; she could use a friend."

I pull out one of the other books that I have not shown him and flip through it.

"She's a big girl, Char. She can make friends without her daddy holding her hand and introducing her to the town." My voice suggests a lack of interest, but I am not directly looking at him in his doe-colored eyes.

"All right, I can take a hint. Thanks, Mills."

"I did nothing, you kind of wasted over fifteen minutes of your life."

"I'm sure you did enough. I'll take my leave."

"Let me walk you out."

**CHARLIE**

Mildred eyes something in the back of the cruiser's window and raises a brow, "Richard III?"

I look back to see a book in the passenger seat with a crack in the spine and drag out an exhale.

"My kid's. She must've forgotten it."

"Class project?"

"No, she just reads it."

"... for fun?"

I shrug. "Didn't get that from me. Anyway."

"Like did her mom force Shakespeare down her throat as a kid or something?" Mildred asks. I can hear the genuine concern under the exaggerations.

"No, she just likes beat-up books." I pull out the card from the file and hand it to her in a handkerchief. Her eyes scan it but wander back to the book. "... so?"

She has this quizzical look on her face now, one I have not seen in a long time. "The fuck you mean beat up books? She didn't do that herself?"

"She cherishes them like a beloved pet." I intercepted her view of the book by stepping in front of the window. "They're bought used. Anyway."

I feel a tug at the sleeve of my jacket. I look down to see a young girl with the most beautiful hazel eyes I've ever seen. She smiles shyly at me.

"Are you lost?"

She shakes her head. I can feel Mildred standing closer to me.

"I have a message from Michael."

I look over to Mildred, who just shrugs.

I know a Michael or two from the office, but I would hardly have the slightest idea how they got a hold of an elementary school girl. I look back towards hazel-eyes.

"He says to stop snooping around, or the girl dies."

I stagger to the side; jaw parted abruptly. "Pardon? Where is your mother, little girl?"

Mildred grips my arm and gasps. "What the fuck? Excuse me?"

"Step off the Church girl's case, or else."

"Hey!" I try to compose myself, but with Mildred clawing at my arm and my heart racing, I can barely keep my voice together. "Who are you? What is this?"

The little girl blinks. She looks around at the parking lot and whimpers. Then she cries.

"Sadie?"

I hear a cry from behind my cruiser. A woman with eyes that matches the little girl comes rushing over.

"Ma'am?" I look over, confused.

"What are you doing to my daughter-! Oh. Officer. I'm so sorry, thank you. I turned my head away for a second to unlock the car, and she was gone."

"Was… there anyone nearby?" I try to collect myself. My arm is still in a grip hold.

"Um, a man was locking up his car, but I didn't get a look of him."

"I see."

"May we go?" she offers. I ponder for a minute and then nod. She picks up Sadie and hurries to what I assume is their car.

"You wanna fucking tell me what that was all about?" Mildred hisses into my ear.

I wait until Sadie and her mother are in the car.

"Can vampires control people?"

"Don't dodge the question. What' church girl?' Stop snooping about what?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

She sighs in frustration and pushes me away. "Fine. Yes. Vampires can charm humans if they're not protected. It's like an extreme version of hypnosis."

"I'm working on an investigation. I can't give out any more information than that."

"Charlie, a schoolgirl, was just charmed by a vampire. He could have done worse! Why-"

"Because of the law, Mills."

She kicks the cruiser and storms off.

"Mildred Miller, don't you walk away from me!" I shout.

But she does. She continues to brood as she flips me off in the distance.

I wonder how long it will be this time until her silent tantrum is over.

I feel my phone go off and I sigh before flipping it open.

"This is Captain Swan, how may I help you?"

I feel my head pounding as the news rolls into my ears.

"I'm sorry what?"

"Charlie. Your daughter has just been admitted to the ER. You need to go there now."

I feel my body moving at full speed to the cruiser and I make my way to the local hospital, avoiding as many red lights as I can. I hardly bother checking if I locked the cruiser and sprint through the waiting room into the emergency room area. Some nurses try to stop me, but I barely notice some doctors pulling them off to the side, uttering my name and my daughter's name in a whisper.

My heels screech in a full halt when I see him. His white powdered skin and his slicked-back hair. He looks knowingly towards me under his spectacles and walks over, putting his clipboard under his arm.

"Mr. Swan."

"Dr. Cullen."


End file.
